


will nature make a man of me yet?

by phcbosz



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Crossdressing, Drug Addiction, Gen, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pre-Canon, Sibling Bonding, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 02:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phcbosz/pseuds/phcbosz
Summary: “One day,” Klaus will say when the sun is sitting low and everything is cast in an orange glow, with Ben’s young and terrified face all but hidden behind thick smoke, “one day we are gonna get the fuck out of here.”They never do.





	will nature make a man of me yet?

**Author's Note:**

> eww i wrote a part with diego too but i hated it so now its gone. sorry about all the mistakes too.

Four learns what death is at the age of three, when he is finally starting to come out of his shell, and he is always so full of laughter and life, and it’s starting to get difficult to get him to shut up.

“When I die,” dad will say on a rainy day with thunder clapping, “I will leave forever and you shall never see me again.”

Dad barely speaks, Four knows even at that age, but when the man finally opens his mouth, everything he says is cruel and mean.

The only reason he is learning about death is he sees people that aren’t there, boys only he can see, men only he can hear, and apparently, it’s not normal to be to talking to empty spaces.

Four has been doing it his whole life, really, he doesn’t remember a time where there wasn’t a stranger hanging out around him, but he only learns that’s not normal when he cries about the men saying mean things about Seven, and when mom asks him to explain, he repeats the man word by word, not even knowing what the words he says mean.

Mom takes him to dad, because she thinks Four is the one being mean, when in reality, he is just repeating what he heard, what he keeps hearing. The men, Four will soon learn, love it when they can make him cry, and weep; there are people out there, a lot of them, who are into those sort of things.

First, dad is angry. He doesn’t understand either, and he doesn’t see the man standing there with a grin, no matter how much Four points, no matter how much he insists he is telling the truth and not just playing.

After a while, it seems to make sense to dad, because the next thing he does is tell Four to ask questions. The mean man’s name is David Fuller, and a day later, they learn that he has been dead for a while now, murdered in jail.

Four doesn’t know what jail or murder or dead is, but he is learning, little by little, and rain by rain.

“When I die,” Dad tells him, only for the sole purpose that Four learns what death is so he can learn what dead is so Dad can learn what his power truly contains, “I will leave forever and you shall never see me again.”

Four doesn’t know what to make of that. At age three, time is a weird concept that he has trouble understanding, like most kids. Understanding death is a little too much for his small brain, and forever means nothing to him, but imaging dad’s seat at the dining table empty every morning, it scares him a little.

“You will never sit with us again?” He asks, because he doesn’t see dad anywhere else.

“Yes,” dad says blankly, not looking up from what he is writing.

“When is it going to happen?” Four asks, because he doesn’t want dad to leave so soon.

“There is no way of knowing when or how or to who it happens.” Too many fancy words, said too quick for Four to even begin unpacking. Then, dad doesn’t quite look up, but his writing stops for a millisecond, a tiny flicker of something in his voice when he speaks. “Everybody dies, but nobody knows when.”

Four gasps, then, taking a small step back with the shock of the words. Surely dad can’t mean—there is no way—

“Even Mom?”

A second passes, the sound of pen running on paper filling the air.

“Yes.”

Four has always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve; always been the one to laugh at every joke, cry at every sad scene, and as a child, his eyes are even quicker to tear up, making his vision blurry and his shoulders shake.

Without mom, there will be no one to make them food, to give them baths, to read them to sleep, to help them play, and Four doesn’t know how long forever is, but it seems like an awfully long time, then, whether it be an hour or a day.

“She is going to leave us someday,” Four says the next day, sitting next to Two, eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“What do you mean?” Two asks, and Four is good at repeating, so he repeats everything dad said the other day, and watches as Two grows more and more pale.

When Two cries, mom is the one to calm him down, and dad doesn’t care at all, when he learns that all the kids are terrified of people dying.

*

Four is seven, when they go out as a family, and Three wears a gorgeous sundress, simply white with all kinds of flowers on it, green, blue, red; and he feels a strong yearning for it.

Inside the Academy, they are only allowed to wear their uniforms except for during the night, when they have to wear their pajamas. Still, there is a difference there too, because all the boys wear shorts but the girls wear skirts.

It’s just the way things are, and there is no point in questioning it, but he does ask, one day, if he can be allowed to wear a skirt instead. The answer is that he has to wear his uniform, and his uniform only contains shorts.

He doesn’t even know why he is so upset about it. Shorts are comfortable and easy to move around in, and skirts look like they would be impossible to play in—Three even complains about it, sometimes, when she moves around too fast, and her skirt flies up, exposing her legs, and they make fun of her for it.

Still, the dress is gorgeous, and all day, Four feels a kind of low simmering in his gut, like something is boiling there, overflooding out of the pot and spilling down his insides, burning everything, burning his throat and his eyes.

He himself is wearing simple pants and a shirt, like all the boys and Vanya, and it just makes him more upset, knowing that Vanya is allowed to wear jeans but he isn’t allowed to wear dresses—there is something so unfair in it, and Four has never been one to keep quiet about his likes or distastes, or about anything, really.

“I like your dress,” he tells Three, who beams, and blushes, barely noticeable in her dark skin. One is watching, in the background, scowling, but Four never pays attention to him. “Can I have it?”

Three frowns, then. “Don’t you have your own clothes?”

Four sighs, frustrated. “Yeah, but I don’t have a dress!”

“Really?” Three asks her, as they stand in the middle of the fair, every man around them wearing pants, and every woman, including mom, wearing dresses. “I have so many of them.”

Four straightens up, puts his hands in front of his chest in a pleading manner, and he asks, “can I have this one, then?”

Three crosses her arms in front of her chest, looks away, looks uncomfortable, looks far from saying ‘yes’.

“I don’t think it would fit you,” is what she settles for in the end, and they both know she is just saying that because she doesn’t want to share.

Four sighs, again, but this time sadder, and when he spills ice cream on his shirt, he doesn’t care at all because he hates that thing anyway.

They are eight, eating breakfast, when Four notices Three’s nails, painted purple, pink, and he almost drops his fork. He knows what nail-polish is, but he has never seen it, and it looks so good, so shiny, so colorful, and he instantly knows he wants it.

Three notices him noticing, him staring, and this time she looks uncomfortable again, under the heavy weight of his envy, his quiet jealousy burning him.

But then, one night, Four wakes up screaming and thrashing, and normally, on nights like this, he would go to Six’s room, stay there so he is not alone and crying, but a corpse has been living there for a while, someone they don’t talk about because Six never really got over it.

So, he goes to the kitchen, where Three is already sitting at the counter, drinking milk. Normally, they are not supposed to be out of their beds at bedtime, but Four has been breaking that rule for a long time, and he knows Three has been, too.

“Hey,” he says casually, tear tracks on his cheeks, and eyes blood red from crying.

“What’s wrong?” Three asks instantly, worried, and sick as a child can be, with her milk almost spilling to the counter when she puts it down harshly, without caring.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Four says, even though he knows that’s not what Three was asking.

They sit in silence, then. And Three drinks her milk, and Four can pretend that he doesn’t see a dead man standing three feet away from the small space they are occupying.

Some nights, it’s hard to stay asleep. Most nights, it’s impossible.

Three clears her throat, after she finishes her milk, and leaves the evidence sitting on the counter, like the careless criminal she is. “You wanna come up to my room?” She asks, with a smile, and Four is already getting up, ready to leave.

“Yeah!”

Three shows him her closet, that day. Lets him try out any dress he wants, and he doesn’t why he is suddenly getting a treat, but he isn’t about to say ‘no’ to it.

And then, she takes out a small pencil, black, and soft at the tip. “It’s eyeliner,” she explains, “I’m too scared to put it on because I feel like I’m going to stab my eye.”

Four has never been afraid of hurting himself, ever, so he presses down too hard, blinks too fast, and puts on the eyeliner, with great effort, all for it to look horrible in the end. Still, it’s the rush and it’s the hushing of their giggles so they don’t wake anybody up, and it’s the excitement, and it’s the way he looks in the mirror with a dress on, prettier than he has ever been.

The sun is shining, when they finish painting his nails, and it’s another night gone, it’s another enemy defeated, or simply sent away for the time being, and Four feels closes to Three than ever, like he suddenly gained a new sibling.

He is nine, when Dad calls him to his office, and tells him he is not allowed to wear skirts or dresses or put on make-up or nail polish. Three helps him tear apart all his pants as a reply, and it gets them both into trouble, but in the end, it’s worth it, because after a fight or two, Dad finally allows him to wear whatever he wants, as long as no stranger is there to see it.

Four doesn’t tell Dad that there is always a stranger watching him, whether it be a dead girl or a dead man—it seems like an unnecessary detail.

*

Four is eleven years old, when he gets a name, and Four is no longer Four, he is supposed to respond to Klaus, embrace it. Dad makes mom name them, all of them, except for Five and Seven, because Five wants to come up with his name himself, and Dad is too good at ignoring Seven, has always been.

Klaus, is thirteen years old, when he drinks a little bit of dad’s liquor, just small sips, but even that manages to knock him off his feet, spill his guts on the expensive carpet, and then cry about it.

When Dad asks, Klaus tells him he only did it so he would stop hearing the voices, seeing the corpses, and Dad’s solution to that is locking him into mausoleum, so he will stop being afraid.

It doesn’t quite work, and the first hour, Klaus screams his voice hoarse, cries his heart out, claws at his face, pulls at his hair; then, when nothing seems to work and he understands that Dad is not coming back anytime soon, he closes his eyes real tight, presses his hands against his ears to muffle the dead speaking.

He remembers the first time he learned about death, and he wonders what would happen to him then, if dad was to die. Do the others know where he is? Will he ever see them again? See, the way Dad explained death, if Klaus never sees them again, won’t that make him dead?

He will leave, forever, and he will never come back—

He stays there, for a long time. And after that, it becomes a regular part of his training, and after that, Klaus gets way better at stealing his dad’s alcohol, and not getting caught doing it.

He hides whole bottles under his bed so he can drink himself to sleep, and his Dad has no idea, or he doesn’t really care, because he never says anything.

One night, he sneaks out during the night, and buys drugs.

It’s a big step in his own destruction, and Klaus is thirteen years old, yet still, his stomach is churning with anxiety over what dad might think.

Dad has never been proud of Klaus, not even once—hell, the man has voiced his disappointment more times than Klaus could count. See, the thing is, dad is not the type to rain people with praises, even the idea of that is funny, but aside from Seven, or Vanya, as she has been named, dad doesn’t hate any of them as much as he hates Klaus.

He doesn’t know if it’s something he said, something he did, if it is just his face, but dad can’t stand the sight of him, and everybody at the academy knows it.

Still, Klaus is rotten metal inside the man’s palm a second, ready to mold to any shape dad needs; he is a dog on a leash the next, ready to run hoops around the man’s fingertips. Klaus is always burning, with something, whether it be anger or sadness or happiness, or the need for attention, approval, he feels deep beneath his skin.

It is unfair, that dad hates him, and Klaus doesn’t even know why, he has always been too scared to ask; and he knows that dad’s not gonna change any time soon, but still, _still_ , there is a child inside of him crying, and it affects his every move, every minute he lives, he lives for his dad, waiting for a shred of what One is always getting.

That night, after he sneaks out, he makes a promise to himself that he will change, and he will stop being a stupid little kid. It’s the first time he ever buys drugs, and the small pills feel too heavy sitting inside his pocket, walking through the empty streets he feels eyes on himself, like somebody is watching.

The thing is, alcohol isn’t cutting it anymore, and there is only so much alcohol one can contain before they are throwing up or blacking out. Drugs, seem safer, in a way. As long as he doesn’t overdose, he is fine, and it will keep the corpses away, it will make the voices finally shut up—that’s all Klaus needs, really.

He buys the pills, and sneaks back in, and he thinks he is being quite sneaky, but when he enters his room, Ben is sitting on the bed, reading a book as he waits for Klaus.

Klaus enters his room, and curses his life, because he wanted to get high as soon as possible, because his hands are starting to itch, and when he closes his eyes, he sees demons behind his eyelids, and he is pretty sure one of their old nannies is lingering in the kitchen; she is singing.

“Hey, Ben,” Klaus exclaims excitedly, jumping on the bed beside his brother, who only gives him an unimpressed look, “what you up to?”

“The question is what have you been up to?” Ben responds to that, closing his book with a quiet snap, and Klaus is really careful about not letting his smirk waver or drop off his lips. “What were you thinking sneaking out so late?”

“Dude, you are starting to sound a lot like Luther,” Klaus jokes, but it all falls flat, hanging in the air between them, uncertain and unwelcome, like he was just out killing a man. “Jesus, Ben, live a little, will ya’? There is a whole world out there, during the night, and it’s a magical time, filled with girls wearing skirts, and cheap drinks…”

“You are too young to be drinking, Klaus,” Ben complains, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and Klaus feels like a live wire, with nerve openings covering every inch of his skin; or a bomb, like one more word out of Ben might send him exploding.

It seems that whatever he does, everybody will always be disappointed in him.

It’s not like Klaus hasn’t tried to be a good kid before—he went down to mausoleum, every time dad said so, stayed there the whole time, learned to not scream, not cry, not complain, and in the end, all he got for it was a disappointed sigh, and a mutter disappearing in to the thin air, but at the same time sticking to his skin, like filth, tainting his soul, tainting. “You had so much potential, Number Four,” dad says, and Klaus is not quite feeling like himself, “and you wasted all of it.”

After that, Klaus stops trying, or he tries to stop trying, but he doesn’t quite manage it, even though he gets drunk and buys drugs, he is still looking at Dad during every meal time, during every training, like the man will finally notice him, like the the man will finally say something to him that is not packed with heat, incredibly mean, like the man will finally start to love him.

He fakes a yawn, dramatic and exaggerated. “You are boring me,” he whines, and it’s all a play to get Ben to leave, so Klaus can finally take his small little pill, “look at me, I’m falling asleep!”

And then he puts his head on the pillow, starts fake snoring, and keeps going, until Ben stops staring, until Ben sighs with disappointment, sounding so much like dad, until Ben walks away, closes the door behind him.

Klaus blinks up at the ceiling until the tears go away, not even one falling down his cheek, and then he takes the pill, and waits for it to take effect.

Soon enough, the walls are breathing, and his head is spinning, and a purple light fills the room, gorgeous and reminding of a sunset, or the stars against a dark night sky, with how pretty it is.

He falls asleep like that, and he doesn’t dream.

*

Klaus is thirteen years old, and kind of addicted to drugs, when they go on their first official mission, saving a bank full of people, and then dad announces to the world that the academy exists, all the while Klaus is supporting a proud grin that feels like melted plastic on his skin.

Back at home, Ben looks about ready to pass out or throw up or do all of that at the same time, Ben looks like he doesn’t fit inside his own skin, and like he is sleepwalking, with how blank his face is, and Klaus knows the feeling.

He takes Ben outside, and they sit on the grass, and Klaus takes off his shoes, feels the ground beneath his feet, all the while Ben doesn’t speak, just quietly exists.

The sun is setting, and the sky is a mix of blue, and purple, and orange, and pink, and it casts shadows on Ben’s face, illuminates how young he is, with full cheeks and big eyes, big eyes filled with a horror so sweet that Klaus can smell it in the air.

Klaus light up a joint, and it says something, how Ben doesn’t complain, or sigh with disappointment, or even care enough to get that frown line he gets between his eyebrows.

He inhales, feels the smoke roll down his throat, and traps it in his lungs, so it burns, so it boils, so he can feel _something_ , and without exhaling, he speaks. “One day,” he says, eyes watering, and thick smoke tainting the air, “one day, we are gonna get the fuck out of here.”

Ben looks at him, then, eyes bigger than they have ever been, and ever so silently, he is crying.

When they finally get back, Klaus is high, and Ben is far away from his body, so when dad punishes them for sneaking out of training, they both don’t hear a word of it.

Ben gets distant, after that. Like he is not quite himself. Once again, Klaus knows the feeling. He understands, yet he still misses his brother so much that it’s like his chest is constantly shrinking, his throat always too tight, and at night, he blinks back tears, even though there are no corpses around, even though the voices are quiet.

“If you keep going at that rate,” Five tells him one day, “you will barely make it to nineteen.”

Klaus scoffs, then laughs, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. “What do you care?” He asks, childishly, but he is too high to care.

“I don’t,” Five is quick to reply, looking away. A quiet settles, then, both of them sitting in silence, listening to the rain hitting the ground outside, and they are locked in, both in the little cages they built, behind the walls they put up.

“You know, you act as if you are smarter than all of us,” Klaus says, after he puts out his joint, and smirks when Five’s head snaps to him, “but you are stupider than you think, if you really believe I’m gonna make it to seventeen.”

“Shut up,” Five hisses, suddenly angry, and Klaus is high enough to find it entertaining.

“What?” He asks with a laugh, and shrugs, with all the indifference he can muster up, which isn’t much. “It’s the truth! One day I’m going to die, and you are all gonna miss me so, _so bad._ ”

He singsongs, he smirks, he means it all as a joke, but suddenly, Five is getting up and storming towards him, bending down so he can make direct eye contact. “You are literally the most selfish person I have ever met,” Five spits out, cheeks flushed red with all the rage he is repressing.

For such a small person, he holds a lot of space for many emotions, but he rarely shows any, except for annoyance, which is his go-to mood filler. Klaus doesn’t understand why Five is suddenly so angry, why anything he said actually mattered to the boy, meant something.

“I was just joking,” he tries to defend himself, actually serious, which is a rare thing, but Five is giving him whiplash with his sudden fire, sudden firing.

Then, it’s Five scoffing, and it’s Five walking away, and it’s Five stopping at the doorway, and it’s Five speaking without looking back. “It’s not funny when I know it might be the truth one day.”

After that, Klaus sits there in silence for at least an hour, all by himself, thinking and not thinking at the same time, his brain buzzing and empty of everything, as it rains and rains and _pours_ , with thunder clapping.

He swears to himself that he is gonna stop using drugs, then. Pops a pill and swears it’s going to be his last one.

There are some lies that stick to you, make you blush with shame over how easily you believed it, and that promise is one of those, and it sticks to Klaus like a leech, especially after Five disappears, and Klaus passes by the big portrait, knowing that even if he does die at the age of seventeen, Five won’t be there to be disappointed in him.

*

Five leaves when they are fourteen. It’s an incredibly lonely year for Klaus, because Ben is ignoring him all the time, only reading his books and not leaving his room. In the whole house, it feels like everybody hates him, even Vanya, who doesn’t really care about any of them.

So, Klaus gets lost every night, comes home in the morning to get scolded and locked in his room, locked in a mausoleum, only to sneak out once again when he has the chance. The world out there is not as quiet as it is inside the house, but Klaus feels just as lonely, surrounded by a hundred bodies, he still feels lost, alone.

One day, they are having breakfast, and it’s such a normal day, and everything is fine, with Klaus rolling a joint beneath the table, with Ben reading his book, with dad not caring about any of it, when suddenly, Five speaks.

It’s all fuzzy after that, Klaus doesn’t really listen to any of it, too busy, too distracted, and it’s been a while since he last popped a pill, so maybe he is a little not there too.

Five runs out, and Klaus doesn’t even care. He has no idea that that’s the last time he will ever see Five, at that time. He doesn’t know anything, because he is a stupid junkie who only cares about cigarettes and drugs and everything in between.

Life, is cruel in a way that when something awful is about to happen, you never really expect it. Klaus would have never thought the first one of them to die, or leave, would be Five. He honestly thought he would die before any of them did.

It comes as quite a shock, when a day passes, and Five is still missing, and a month passes, and Five is still missing, and one night, Vanya sneaks in to his room, so quiet that she scares the shit out of Klaus, who almost drops his joint.

She gives a disapproving glance to Klaus’ hand, and Klaus almost rolls his eyes, because Vanya really has no place judging him, considering she has been addicted to her own poison since they were kids.

“What do you want, Vanya?” He asks, and he is meaner than he should be, higher than he has ever been.

His head spins and spins and rolls and falls, all the while his body is completely still. A few feet away, Vanya’s vision is bending and breaking so much that for a second Klaus wonders if he is dreaming.

“Is he dead?”

Suddenly, Klaus feels like he has been struck, and he almost flinches, but it’s getting easier to pretend now, so he just feigns confusion. “Who?” He asks, even though he knows exactly what Vanya is talking about.

Vanya’s hands turn to little fists by her sides, and it’s the most emotion Klaus has seen her show, except for the sadness that always plagues her.

“Five,” she says, her voice breaking in the middle of it, “is he dead?”

Klaus takes another drag of his joint, and at this point, he doesn’t even know why he is smoking it. It just feels like the thing to do, then. “I don’t know,” he replies simply, with a shrug, and then laughs loudly at the expression Vanya makes.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” And Vanya might have sounded angry, if it wasn’t her voice wavering and her eyes tearing up. “Can you… Can you conjure him?”

“Vanya, dear,” Klaus starts dramatically, with a sigh, “I can’t conjure anything! That’s the whole point of this little bad boy.” Vanya’s eyes linger on the joint Klaus is holding out for too long, and she almost looks like Ben, too empty, too blank.

“You mean… You didn’t even try? You’ve been high all this time and you didn’t even…” Vanya can’t quite look at Klaus, can’t quite look away, and their eyes linger but avoid, and the around them seems hesitant, uncertain, in a way. “And you didn’t even care.”

The last bit, is not a question.

The truth is, Klaus tried. He actually tried to quit drugs, so that he could conjure Five, but nothing worked, no matter what Klaus did, Five never showed up, and in the end, he always went back to drugs. He is weak, in that way. Always has been.

And at this point, he is too tired to care, too tired of always caring. Still, Vanya’s expression hurts him, deep down, behind his chest, where it’s hidden and unseen. Vanya is the first person to ask him if Five is still alive, in a way, she is the only one who believed that he could actually be able to find out, and now he has disappointed her too.

When he is high, though, sadness is so quick to turn to anger, rage. He wants to punch a wall, run away from home, just like Five did, find a forest to go inside, and scream, surrounded by trees and birds, and nobody who could be disappointed in him.

“Oh, like you are one to talk,” he says, getting up, stumbling. The world is unsteady around him, his head spinning, the ground spilling, and the walls are melting off.

“What?” Vanya yells, Vanya whispers, her voice is so loud yet so quiet, something stuck in the Limbo they are in.

“You’ve been addicted to your little pills since you were, what…” He takes a second to think, before he laughs. “Since you were three years old!”

Vanya takes a step back, her hand flying to her chest in a great offense, and Klaus takes some pride in it, some kind of sick satisfaction, because Vanya finally stops looking so disappointed. “It’s not the same,” she defends herself, like Klaus doesn’t already know. Then, she huffs out a disgusted breath.

“We are not even remotely the same, Klaus.”

Klaus doesn’t know what he has done, if even Vanya can hate him. He must be really hateable, for that to happen, considering Vanya doesn’t even hate their dad.

“Yeah, you are right,” Klaus says, Klaus sneers, Klaus already regrets what he is saying, “I’m not useless like you.”

Vanya’s hand drops by her side, one tear rolling down her cheek, but her face turns blank once again, void of anything, and Klaus knows that she has heard it so many times now that she must probably not even be affected by it.

Yet still, Vanya cries, just like Klaus, who is always so used to being the disappointment, but still tries _so hard_ to be anything but.

With a soft flinch, the smoke hitting his eye and burning, Klaus realizes he sounds just like his dad, telling Vanya all that bullshit; looks just like his dad, standing over her with a frown on his lips; he is just like his dad, in every way he doesn’t ever want to be.

Vanya is turning around, when Klaus finally finds the strength to speak. “I did try,” he says, cutting the silence like a knife, cutting the air, and it’s getting hard to breathe. “It never worked.”

He doesn’t apologize, because the damage has already been done, and he has never been good at apologies. Still, he thinks, this information will help Vanya more than a useless apology from her useless brother anyway.

“I don’t know if he is dead or alive, but if he is dead, he is a stubborn asshole even in the after-life, because he is refusing with all he has to come down.”

By her sides, Vanya’s hands relax. She doesn’t reply, doesn’t say anything, just turns around and leaves.

Klaus puts out to joint, and feels more sober, but decides to sleep it off instead of popping another pill.

*

When Klaus is eighteen, Ben dies. It’s a different feeling he is incapable of explaining.

It happens on a mission, which is expected, but Klaus never really expected it, before. It all seems so simple. One moment, Ben is there, Ben is alive, next moment, he is on the ground, and he is still.

Klaus freezes, because though he is good with thinking on his feet, in that moment, there is no time to think, no point, they are already too late, and Ben isn’t breathing.

See, Klaus knows death. He sees it all the time, all around him, if he is not too high for it. And the moment Ben’s body hits the ground, the sound it makes, so small and so quiet, with all the noise around them, Klaus knows what it means.

Diego is the one to go check, and he doesn’t check for a pulse first, because he is Diego. He just starts dragging Ben’s unresponsive body away, to where Klaus doesn’t know. Blood is pooling on the ground, and getting on the floor, staining it, and there is a hole in Ben’s stomach, the tentacles out of them surrounding the boy, for the first time ever, they are not moving.

Someone is yelling, in the background, but it’s all just white noise to Klaus’ buzzing head, and he is too busy to understand a word of it. He regrets being high, then. His brother just died in front of him, and he is too high to feel anything but a small sense of sadness. It’s insignificant, so small for the huge person Ben is, was, always has been.

Someone slams into him, so sudden that Klaus worries that it might be the bad guys they are fighting and he thinks he might join Ben really soon. But it’s just Luther, and Luther picks him up like he doesn’t weigh anything, and Luther runs.

In his arms, Klaus is limp, just like Ben.

He doesn’t know what happens next, his mind floating out of his body, and he is out of his mind, and there is nothing else to do, but get drunk and high.

He escapes from Luther’s grip, or slips away, really, because Luther is just as limp as him, because they never expected _this_.

It’s just another one of their siblings that died before Klaus managed to, yet still.

It is also kind of funny, to Klaus, and nobody else but him, that Ben was the one to die, considering he was the best one out of them. He was the last one to deserve it. If anyone, it should have been Klaus, and really, he is the only one of them who deserves something like _this_.

It is also kind of funny, because maybe if Klaus wasn’t high, was really there in the fight, inside his own body and not floating off somewhere far away, maybe it would have been different, maybe he could have done something, just like everyone else, he could have done his part, and maybe then, the meaningless fight that he can’t even remember what was about, wouldn’t end with Ben dying.

He doesn’t know how he manages to go to his dealer’s house, but he shows up there, with his stupid uniform, with blood on it, and he doesn’t remember peeling it off, but when he leaves, he is wearing oversized jeans and no t-shirt. There is a puncture mark on his arm, and it seems fitting.

It’s the first time he has put a needle on his body, and Ben should be proud, because it’s a new low, even for Klaus, who really thought he would never do it.

He makes it home too, somehow, and when he opens his eyes again, he is in his bed, with the blankets pulled high up his shoulders, shivering. He doesn’t know if that’s normal or if he is dying, he doesn’t really care.

All that matters is that Ben is dead, and Klaus is the one responsible for it.

That night, as he tries to sleep, out of the corner of his eye, he keeps seeing Ben, just some fucked up drug hallucination, but Ben is there, with dried blood on his face, and the expression he would wear after a mission as a kid.

He looks incredibly blank, and empty, and Klaus knows the feeling.

*

They have a funeral in private, and it’s a small blessing, because Klaus would really kill his own dad if the man tried to make a public stunt of it.

Klaus himself, is still newly coming to terms with what it means, and he remembers being a small kid, worried about how long forever is, and how his mom might die someday, leave him all alone, nobody to clothe or bathe him.

Now, death seems so small, and Klaus feels smaller.

The big house seems even bigger without Ben, and every morning, Klaus goes down for breakfast, and at the table, the empty spot next to him makes his heart ache, his chest constantly shrinking, his throat always closed tight, and his vision is blurry, from all the tears he isn’t shedding.

One day, it gets too much. Klaus doesn’t know the date, he doesn’t know the hour. He doesn’t know how long has it been since Ben died, just that it feels like forever.

And one day, it gets too much. He is just getting ready for an injection, feeling the rush of it, and the gushing of the water by the bathtub right next to him, sitting on the toilet seat and holding a spoon with a shaking hand, feeling his heart beat out of his chest with every little creak outside the door, like any second, someone might come in.

The door is locked, and everybody is asleep, still, Klaus worries. For good reason too, because one pull is all it takes, before the door bows to Luther’s strength, and all but falls on the ground, if it wasn’t for Luther holding it.

Klaus is so shocked that he jumps up, drops the spoon to the ground, and freezes on the spot with a belt tied around his arm, and a needle on his hand that he is clutching with a death-grip.

Luther, seems like he just woke up, supporting a bed head, and wearing his Umbrella Academy pajamas. They are both wearing matching looks of ‘deer caught in the headlights’ like Luther just caught him masturbating, but considering the position they are in, Klaus knows that they both would prefer that.

For a while, they don’t speak, and the only sound in the room is Klaus’ heart beating like he just ran a marathon, and his fast breathing.

“Come on,” he says, after how long, he doesn’t know, “you have caught me doing worst.”

And it’s the wrong thing to say, because Luther’s whole face goes red with anger, and the boy looks about ready to kill. For a brief second, Klaus is worried that Luther might really kill him, right then and there.

“What…” Luther starts, voice barely a whisper, caressing the hesitant air. Then, he clears his throat, straight shoulders pulled back, and tries again. “What were you thinking?”

Klaus laughs, because it feels like the thing to do, then, because his hands are still shaking, because he is two seconds away from bursting into tears, and if he is to cry, there is no way he is doing it in front of Luther, because Luther is a copy of their dad.

“What was I thinking?” He asks, mocking, and he is so angry these days that it surprises him, sometimes, when he finds himself clenching his teeth so hard that his jaw aches, clawing at his arms so much that they bleed and itch. “I think it’s kind of obvious.”

Luther opens his mouth, closes it, and his eyes flick to Klaus’ arm, and Klaus curses himself for not pulling down his sleeve, because Luther sees every little mark, every cigarette burn, every straight cut, every scar that Klaus has ever given himself as a gift—and then Luther turns around, walks away, fast steps echoing from one wall to another. Klaus runs.

“Luther!” He yells, whispers, because he is still trying to be quiet, not wake anyone up, he can’t let anybody see this, because there is a belt hanging from his arm, grounding him to the moment.

Klaus has never been one to be embarrassed by his addiction, but some nights, shame creeps over him like a wet blanket, chilling him to the bone and freezing his limbs. That day is one of those nights, where getting caught injecting himself would be the end of him.

So, he jumps over Luther, wraps his arms around the man’s neck, legs around his waist, and he clings with all his being. “Don’t tell dad.”

It’s a plead, and Klaus’ voice is just soft enough for it to count as begging.

“Let go off me.”

“No.”

It happens too fast, maybe because Klaus is high, but one second he is clinging to Luther, the next he is on his ass, and a loud sound echoes through the hallway, waking everybody up.

Luther whips around, breaks the air, and breaks Klaus, and the man screams. “You never know when to stop, do you?”

In the midst of all of it, for a second, Klaus think that though they do not look alike, Luther has never reminded him of father more.

“Why are you so determined to kill yourself, Klaus?”

Klaus can’t really help it. He doesn’t know what Luther expects him to say, but it isn’t for Klaus to laugh for sure, because when the giggles bubble out of his chest, Luther flinches, takes a step back like it hurts to look at him.

Then, as Klaus lays down on the ground, full on laughing with a hand on his stomach, slowly, step by step, Luther leaves, to tell dad, and at this point, Klaus is pretty sure the man will finally hit him.

This is the lowest point of his life, but Klaus feels higher than ever.

One by one, the lights inside the rooms all go on, but nobody opens the door, nobody cares enough to look, and it doesn’t sting, and when Klaus cries, it’s only from laughing too much.

When he gets up, he almost falls down again, because his head is spinning, and his arm is completely numb, tingling. Slowly, he goes to his room, finds his backpack, and packs as much as he can.

He doesn’t really know where he will go, how he is going to leave, but all he knows is that he needs to get out of there, as soon as possible.

So, before dad can come down, Klaus goes up to him. Luther is already there, and when Klaus barges into the room, they stop speaking.

A silence settles down, like smoke in a closet with the sun-rays illuminating it. Klaus has never felt freer, he has never felt more _disgusting._ If he could rip off his own skin, he would, if he could leave his body forever, he would, if he could disappear, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“Number Four,” dad starts when he sees Klaus, and Klaus smiles, because that’s all he has ever been to his father. Just a number, and that’s it.

Then, at the same time, both the man in the room notice Klaus’ bag, give him the same look, and Klaus thinks, _dear god, there are two of them_. And, _thank god I’m leaving._

“Dad,” he greets, and his voice doesn’t shake. There is a burning behind his eyes, a lump in his throat, but he refuses to cry, because he has cried for too long, and it won’t change anything, anyway.

Klaus has learned at a young age that no matter how much he screams, nobody will come, there is no knight in shining armor, there is no sibling you can lean on, there is no father who will finally love you if you manage to do everything he says.

“What are you doing, boy?”

And Klaus smiles, feels his lips stretch, bleeding little needle drops from how chapped they are, and it’s a small comfort: the pain.

“I’m leaving,” he says simply, shrugs.

“Number Four—”

“Did you even care, dad?” He asks, because he loves hurting himself. He asks, even though he knows the answer. “When Ben died? Does it… Did he ever mean _anything_ to you?”

For a while, everything is silent, and Klaus can swear that even his heart stops beating. From the corner of his eye, he can Luther, silent because they are in their father’s presence and the man did not command them to speak.

Klaus has never hated anyone more than he hates Luther, then. Their dad is a lost cause, Klaus knows. But he will never be able to forgive Luther for turning out just like him.

Finally, dad clears his throat. “Number Six was—”

And Klaus is laughing. That’s all he needs to hear, really, to get the answer he already dreaded. He leaves, doesn’t listen to the rest of what his father is saying.

As he makes his way down the stairs, nobody stops him.

Before he opens the door to get out, he hears a familiar voice, and he stops, lingering at the doorway.

“They can’t afford to lose you too,” Ben says, and when Klaus turns around to look, he smiles, just a little sad, just a little sharp at the edges.

He doesn’t reply. He never replies, because if he does, then he will make it real, and Ben will never leave.

So, he just turns around again, opens the door, and steps outside. Inside the house, Ben is staring at his back, but Klaus has never been brave, he can’t find the strength in himself to say goodbye, to say anything.

He remembers, when they were little kids, that he promised Ben that one day, they would leave this fucking hell hole. He doesn’t know if this means he is abandoning Ben, or if Ben abandoned him.

He leaves, all alone, and with tears running down his cheeks.

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i opened word to write my already 3 days late essay but. yknow. l i f e.


End file.
